Slow Dancin'

I didn't go to my senior prom.  Or any of the school dances, for that matter. My parents were convinced that dancing would lead to hugging and hugging would lead to necking and necking would lead who knows where and it just wasn't done by the Baptist preacher's daughters back then, or any other really devout Baptists in Missouri for that matter.  So the night of the prom Dennis and I went across the river to St. Charles to our favorite parking place on---I swear I am not making this up---Dingledine Road.  And necked.

In grade school one of the sections of the P.E. curriculum was square dancing.  My dad sent a note to school and I was in charge of the record player while everybody else danced.  This was in the 'fifties, Elvis made his scandalous appearance, gyrating like a whole herd of ants had gone down his pants, convincing my folks that things were just as bad as they expected, then came Chubby Checker and the Twist, which even Jackie Kennedy did in public, and the world was obviously going to hell in a hurry to the blast of an electric guitar.

I guess dancing is like learning languages: best started when one is a child, because even though I don't have the same spiritual reservations myself these days, the few times that I  tried to dance at weddings and such, my feet went one way---actually, two ways---Dennis's feet went another, the rest of my body a third, and to avoid being the comic relief for the whole reception, we gave it up. That whole "...fallen and I can't get up" thing would have detracted from the bride and groom anyway and we wanted to be polite

We were surprised to learn when we moved to the South that standards were somewhat looser.  The deacons' little girls all took ballet lessons and maybe even the preacher's daughters. Kids came to church the morning after prom still wearing their tuxedos & fancy dresses instead of pretending they had not gone, and nobody seemed to mind. Some Baptist places still stuck to the old customs, though, because when each of our boys attended Oklahoma Baptist University there was a "No Dancing  On Campus" policy.  It lasted until late last year when we heard that they had their first sanctioned dance on campus since their founding in 1910. Of course, Oklahoma did have an earthquake centered near there just a few days later.  Just sayin'

Okay, so I can't dance, but I can walk really fast.  I cling to these things.  My dad had very long legs and I used to walk with him when I was little and fast walking is almost the only way I know how to go. But Dennis, good Catholic boy that he was, who went to all the CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) dances and Teen Town too, doesn't dance any more or walk fast at all now.  In fact, since he broke his leg in three places and it has never healed properly, there are snails in our back yard that have gotten across the patio in less time than it takes him to get out to the car.  So, that's a problem: I walk ahead, then wait for him, then walk ahead again. Not very considerate of me, is it?

Recently on TV I saw Mark Kelly walking with Gabby Gifford down a sidewalk.  She made Dennis look like a speed-racer but her husband effortlessly stayed right by her side the whole time.  It was kind of like a beautiful slow dance. It made me think. Maybe even I can do that.  Besides, when we were in St. Louis a few years ago we drove out to try to find Dingledine Road again.  It is the main road in a subdivision now with houses all around.  I might as well start working on my slow dancing.